Mirrors
by SkyeElf
Summary: Draco stared at the mirror.  The mirror that hated him so.  He looks just like his father... is that why he looked better in a broken mirror?


**A/N: This is for Muentiger. My best friend, my sister, my shrink and fellow mad person. Happy Christmas, sis!**

**As we were, I own not Harry Potter, nor the song "Mirrors" by Li'l Wayne and Bruno Mars. This is not a songfic, but it is inspired by that song.**

**This happens a few months after the final battle.**

**Mirrors**

Draco stared at the mirror. That mirror that hated him so. He thought about everything that had happened these past few months. Trials, accusations thrown left and right… He didn't know whether he was coming or going. He didn't know what to do or who to trust. Or even who to turn to.

The mirror. His hair was a sickly pale, even for him, and his eyes had dark circles around them. Not to mention that the whites of his eyes were now red from lack of sleep and his continuous rubbing. His reflection looked at him, but he saw through it. There was blood in his eyes, but even that couldn't hide the pain he felt. Not to him. The pain caused by love he tried to disguise. Love… for whom? His mother, perhaps. His father… he also loved. But he detested it every time he looked in the mirror. He looked just like Lucius, and he hated it. He hated not having his own identity.

The pain was also hidden by pride. The old pride he felt for being who he was. For being a Slytherin , for being his own person. For getting good, no excellent, marks at school. For standing up to Bellatrix when no one else would.

Yet he lacked satisfaction. He should've done it sooner. He should've stood up to Voldemort, he should've taken Dumbledore's deal that night on top of the tower.

The thought frightened him, how much he disliked the person. And the fact that the person wasn't anybody else, it was him.

_I see myself._

Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who's the most hated of them all? Is it Draco, who has so much gall? Or Lucius, who was the one that lost his gameball?

The mirror had been his only friend for years. Or it was the person he saw in the mirror? All he knew was that through his rise and fall, the mirror had been his only friend. So many times he'd tried to convince himself that others could understand him… for him. Not for his status, or his money, or his influence.

That reflective glass was his only friend.

He still lied, but that glass couldn't hide it. He looked from his one side to his other. As if hoping there would be something – no one. He was alone. All alone…

_No, I'm here. _His reflection reminded him. _I'll be there to correct you when you're about to go wrong. And don't be ashamed, I see the guilt. You should talk to Potter. Aplogize. And to Granger. Don't forget Weasley… everyone. _

He blinked, realizing his inner voice was right. He wiped his hands over his eyes as his other hand, the one that had been holding him up, slipped an inch, causing him to nearly lose his balance. His eyes fell onto the Dark Mark. It would forever taint his pale skin.

There they were. The scars. Not all visible, but all there. Mental and physical.

But he was still looking at the mirror. In it he could see his past. How prejudiced he was, how utterly narcissistic and bombastic he was. He hated who he had been.

Angrily, Draco lifted a hand and smashed it to the mirror. It fell to the floor in a thousand tiny pieces. Much like he was now. With a sigh he started to pick the splinters of glass up, forgetting that he had magic at his disposal.

He caught sight of his reflection in one of the pieces. He held it up to his face. He looked good in broken mirrors, if not better.

"Darling?" Narcissa spoke from the doorway. He whipped around, startled by her sudden appearance. She saw the glass. "What happened?"

"Accidental magic." He mumbled his lie, continuing his chore of cleaning it up.

"Dear, why don't you use your wand?" She asked, a tiny bit of laughter concealed in her voice. Draco looked up. She smiled at him, thinking him silly.

His mother still smiling at him was a blessing. That single smile made him see the missive. He couldn't change the past, but he could alter the future.

And he'd have to start with the man in the, now broken, mirror.


End file.
